The Rogue Canary
by Pir8grl
Summary: Scenes from our favorite Rogues' 'retirement.'
1. Chapter 1

**Gotham City**

Gotham was the last place Leonard Snart had ever imagined settling down, but Sara had fallen head over heels for the quirky edifice of dark red and gray brick, and if there had ever been a time when he was capable of telling her 'no,' it had long since faded into the mists of legend. She loved the alternating bricks of shiny dark red Lucite and rough clear glass that made up the bar, and had taken a childish delight in mounting a dart board on a scarred brick pillar.

Leonard himself appreciated the wrought iron detailing on the roof, and the funky brick trim around the windows. He'd installed a top-notch security system, complete with a hidden panic room. OK, honestly, it was more of 'place to hide stuff we don't want the GCPD to find out about' room. Old habits. And then there was that…thing…up on the roof. Sara reminded him that they were in his city now, and they were supposed to be good guys, and that they needed to play by the local rules. Whatever. She was happy. That was all he really needed to know.

Mick occupied the basement mancave. Sara and Leonard had the upstairs apartment. It was tiny, but worth it to wake up with Sara in his arms every morning. He did grumble about wanting to enclose the deck. He might enjoy the view of Sara in the little hot tub, but that didn't mean he wanted anyone else to. Sara just laughed, and reminded him that Mick's grill was up there, and did they really want him to burn the place down, after they had just done all the restoration work? (Among other things, they'd acquired a vintage juke box that played a lot of Captain and Tenille.)

* * *

"I don't like this," Bruce Wayne muttered - yet again.

"Get over it," Selina Kyle snapped.

"I just don't like the idea of a bunch of displaced vigilantes taking up residence. There's enough problems in this city already."

"And I'm telling you - they're not a problem. This area's safer than it has been in years. The people who bought this place take serious offense with men who won't take no for an answer."

"That's part of the GCPD's job."

"They're nowhere near as effective as a rather…pointed…reprimand from the bartender."

"That's the former assassin, right?"

"That's the woman who's keeping a helluva a lot of other women safe," she corrected. "And the big guy, with the scarred arms - he'll feed anyone who needs it. No questions asked."

"And whose idea was that?" he demanded, jerking his chin in the direction of the object on the roof.

"Jim Gordon. He thought it was a good idea to have another signal, visible from this part of the city. It also reinforces the idea that this is a safe place, run by the good guys."

A noncommittal grunt was Bruce's reply, as he paused in the alley, staring at a bit of stubborn graffiti that had somehow eluded the powerwash. 'Bad Wolf.' Whatever the hell that might mean. He shook his head and continued on.

"And just this once, why can't we go in the front door and talk, like normal human beings?" Selina persisted, as he began to climb up the fire escape.

"Since when do you pass up a chance to creep around rooftops?"

"Since the rooftop is already occupied," she replied sweetly, right about the same moment that they both heard the whine of the cold gun powering up.

"Like the lady said," Snart drawled, aiming over the ledge. "Civilized folk come in through the front door."

"You wouldn't want us to think you was unfriendly, now would you?" Mick added, aiming the heat gun at them from the sidewalk.

"I don't care who they are or what they did. You better not mess up my - oh, hey, Selina." Sara Lance paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the tableau of her two rogues aiming weapons at two 'guests' dangling from the fire escape. "Something wrong with the front door?" she asked mildly.

Selina glared at Bruce, and likely would have kicked him, if her feet weren't otherwise occupied.

"Would you believe we were testing your security system?" she said glibly.

Sara just raised an eyebrow.

Selina sighed. "All right. If he promises to behave, can we come in and have a drink?"

"Hey!" Bruce exclaimed.

"We're not the ones who's trespassing, pal," Mick reminded him pleasantly.

* * *

"Like I said," Snart drawled, "we're retired." He had his chair tipped back into the corner, affording him a perfect view of the room.

"That's fine," Bruce replied patiently. "Why couldn't you retire to Central City?"

"Because Sara wanted to open her own bar. She picked this one."

There was a certain something in Snart's eyes and voice when he looked at the tiny blonde, and Bruce _**got**_ that. He really did. He opened his mouth to respond -

"Master Bruce, I do hope you're not here to stir up any trouble," Alfred Pennyworth said, with the slightly disapproving tone that had been making Bruce squirm since he was a boy.

"Evening, Alfred," Snart said genially. "Mick's in the kitchen."

"Very good, sir."

Bruce's eyes widened as he took in the neatly folded apron on his butler's arm, and the market basket of produce he carried.

Snart smirked. "He and Mick are collaborating on the perfect burger."

"How did he even know about this place?"

"Alfred's a very resourceful fellow. He knows lots of things. Including where to find his favorite stout. Sara stocks it for a friend."

Both men glanced back at the bar, where Sara and Selina were chatting. They watched Alfred hand Sara a carton of enormous ripe strawberries with a courtly nod, earning himself a peck on the cheek from each woman.

"Looks like I'm outnumbered," Bruce admitted with a sigh.

"Looks like," Snart agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard Snart had never been a particularly tactile person. He'd learned early on to armor himself in layers - clothing, attitude, whatever it took - to keep others at arms length. Even here, safe behind the security system he'd designed, with any number of weapons within reach, and sharing a bed with a world class assassin, the habit persisted. Long sleeves and flannel pants, as little skin showing as possible.

The assassin in question sighed and shifted in her sleep. Bright blue eyes blinked open, and Sara Lance stretched like a contented cat, curling on her side to observe him.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked mildly, eyeing the bits of silk and lace she considered sleepwear. As usual, he was torn between enjoying the view, and cringing at the thought of being so…exposed.

"What's the point of Egyptian cotton sheets and a silk comforter if you're too bundled up to enjoy any of it?" Sara countered with a pretty pout.

"Old habits," he admitted.

"I know…but this is our place, that we've built for ourselves. Don't you think maybe it's time for some new habits?"

He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep affection from ruining his 'cold' mask, but it was a losing battle. Always had been, with Sara.

"What did you have in mind?" he drawled, snark mostly in place.

"Well, for starters, you could lose the shirt."

"Just the shirt?"

Sara flashed him a _**very**_ particular smile, one eyebrow delicately arched -

And they both froze at a peculiar scratching sound from the skylight. A ginger tabby cat was up there, pawing rather insistently at the glass.

"Friend of yours?" Snart drawled.

Sara shook her head. "How'd it even get up there?"

"It's Gotham," Snart replied wearily. "I've given up asking. Scat," he muttered rather illogically in the general direction of the ceiling.

And then they both began to hear rain patter on the glass, and Sara turned those eyes on him, and he reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed, fumbling for the remote to open the skylight just enough to admit their very temporary guest.


	3. Chapter 3

_**The Quest for the Perfect Burger**_

 _ **or**_

 _ **How the Butler and the Pyro Became Besties**_

"OK, what the hell's going on out here?" Sara Lance demanded, glancing from the two-bit punk laying in the gutter, curled around what appeared to be a broken wrist, to the gent in an immaculate suit who was carefully assisting a slightly disheveled working girl to her feet.

She knew without looking that Snart had come out of the security office and was peering over the railing, cold gun held down at his side. She also knew that Mick was lurking just around the corner, some instrument of culinary mayhem in hand.

Suit guy picked up the girl's purse, dusted it off, and handed it to her. "Are you sure you're quite all right, miss?" he asked, in a courtly manner.

The girl nodded, still looking scared out of her wits.

Sara pasted on a harmless looking smile. "Why don't you go on back to the kitchen and get warm?" she suggested gently. "Mick?"

The big man appeared from around the corner, with a very large spatula clutched in his fist. "You had anything to eat today?" he asked gruffly.

The girl shook her head.

"Let's fix that."

Sara watched the two disappear down the alley, then turned her attention to the jerk who was hopefully considering new life choices. "Get out," she said shortly. "Don't ever let me see you around here again."

Something in her tone or expression had him scrambling upright and scuttling away as fast as his feet could carry him.

Sara turned her attention to the British gentleman before her. Something about him screamed 'soldier' to her rather finely honed instincts Maybe even special ops.

"Thank you,: she said simply.

The gentleman gave a slight bow. "Well, a lady ought to be able to walk down the street in peace, don't you think?"

"I do, indeed," she replied, gifting him with a genuine smile. She extended her hand. "Sara Lance."

"Alfred Pennyworth."

"Pleased to meet you, Alfred Pennyworth. This doesn't strike me as your usual neighborhood."

"It's not, really. I'm looking for a place called The Rogue Canary."

Sara laughed merrily. "Well, you've found it."

"Splendid. As it happens, there's a stout I'm quite fond of. It's a bit hard to find in the States, so I track distributors online."

"I know exactly which one. I stock it special for a friend. Come on in. First one's on the house."

"And why's that, then?"

"Because no woman should suffer at the hands of men."

* * *

Alfred looked curiously around the establishment as he sipped his drink. Pool table in the back room, card game at the center table, and a jukebox that seemed to play mainly 70's tunes. The place was immaculate, and the patrons surprisingly well behaved. Although perhaps that wasn't so surprising after all, given the proprietors. Alfred suspected any mischief was dealt with swiftly and permanently. Although this was hardly the sort of place he envisioned coming to dine, the scents emanating from the kitchen were quite delightful, and those burgers really did look scrumptious.

"I say, miss," he finally relented, "might I get one of those?"

"Sure thing," Sara assured him with a grin. "Mick! House burger, all the trimmings."

"Sure thing, Boss!"

* * *

Alfred carefully pulled his napkin from his collar (a sartorial necessity for a deliciously drippy burger) and wiped his mouth. "My compliments to the chef."

"I'll let Mick know," Sara assured him.

"D'you suppose I might get another of those pickles? Best I've ever had."

"Sorry. One to a customer."

"I don't mind paying a couple extra bob."

"It's not that. Mick orders them special. They come in small batches." Sara glanced back into the kitchen. "Mick! Come out here and talk food."

"What's up?"

Alfred looked mildly horrified as Mick wiped his hands on his already grubby apron.

"Tell this gentleman where you get the good pickles, would you?"

"Someplace out where they got farms. Tiny Town? Little…place?"

"Smallville?" Alfred supplied.

"That's it! Little old silver-haired lady makes 'em on her farm."

"Well, they really are quite remarkable. And what sort of onions do you use?"

"Well, I get 'em at the Spanish market down the street. Whatever looks good. I like the yellow ones. The red can be a bit too sharp sometimes."

"Tell me, have you ever considered sautéing them in a bit of bacon dripping?"

Mick grinned. "Step into my office."

"Well then, don't mind of I do. If that's quite all right, miss?"

Sara nodded her acquiescence. "Have fun, boys."


	4. Chapter 4

Sara sighed and crossed her arms, looking up at the svelte figure scaling the side of her bar.

"Hey there, Selina."

"Oh, hey, Sara."

"Haven't we had this little talk before? About using the front door?"

"I'm testing your security system?"

"Yeah, you tried that one before. Len's already clocked you from the office. System's working just fine. Why don't you come down from there?"

"But Sara," Selina wheedled, "The outside doesn't match the inside. I can't help it if I'm curious."

"You know what they say about cats and curiosity, don't you? Down. Now."

"Cat, not dog," Selina grumbled as she slid to the pavement.

Sara sighed heavily. "Look, it's just a bunch of ducts and pipes from the kitchen, that' all. Nothing to see."

Selina narrowed her eyes, studying the building carefully. "It's the perfect place to hide -"

"A bunch of ducts and pipes from the kitchen," Sara repeated firmly. "Look, Selina…you're our friend, and you're always welcome - by way of the front door. This is our home, and Len doesn't play around with keeping it safe. I…we've…gotten on the wrong side of some very bad people in our time. We've gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure that they never get in here. Just…don't mess with it…please?"

Selina continued to study the side of the building. "How'd he tag me? There's no cameras here."

"None that you can see," Sara corrected meticulously. She didn't feel any particular need to share the fact that Gideon had helped implement Len's ideas with future tech. Or that John had warded the place. "Selina, I mean it. This isn't a game."

There was something in Sara's tone then…something that reminded Selina that beneath Sara's veneer of light, there was a League trained assassin lurking…and maybe something else that shouldn't be woken. She glanced up at the tantalizing brick wall once more, then back to her friend. "Got anything good to drink around here?" she asked lightly.

Somehow, without moving a muscle, Sara seemed to relax, animation flooding back into her features and voice. "Sure. I just got a new shipment. I'm sure we'll find something."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Building a Safe Haven**_

Leonard sat at his favorite corner table, chair tipped back so he could survey the room. Cheers erupted as "Love Will Keep Us Together" poured from the vintage juke box in the corner. He smiled indulgently as Jax high-fived Ray, then got pulled into a dance with Sara.

"Love what you've done with the place," John Constantine declared, pulling out a chair uninvited. He swung it around backwards and straddled it, resting his arms on the back.

"Constantine," Leonard acknowledged.

"So tell me, squire, what can I do for you?"

Leonard took a sip of his beer, then set the bottle on the table, and leaned back, steepling his fingers. His gaze flickered around the room, noting exits and windows, always coming back to Sara.

"I mean, I'm loving the little Waverider reunion you've got going on here, but if you're planning on handing me a hammer or a broom, I should warn you - manual labor and I aren't currently on speaking terms."

Len snorted, jarred from his thoughts. He glanced over at Sara again, then back to the warlock in front of him, who was fiddling with one of his ever-present cigarettes.

"It all comes back to her, doesn't it? Just spit it out, would you?"

"Fine. I want to know…are we safe here?"

"Safe? Here, in the crime capital of the known universe?"

"That part, I've got covered. I designed the security system myself."

"I sort of figured Raymond and Jax had better things to do here than install a sound system that plays a dubious selection of music. That lad from STAR Labs, too."

Len nodded.

"Than what…?"

"I want to know," Len said slowly, "Are we safe from…the sort of things that you deal in?"

John looked around thoughtfully. "Well," he replied, after a long moment, "this place isn't a nexus, like Lian Yu, but…alot of evil people have done alot of damage here. Makes the place a bit more…susceptible, as it were. And then there was that nasty bit o'business with Mallus…"

"And the fact that I was dead," Sara added, her tone matter-of-fact.

Neither man was particularly surprised that the assassin had managed to sneak up on them.

"And that," Constantine agreed.

Len's eyes went flat. "I thought I told you -"

"Yeah, yeah…and she told me. Get over it, the pair of you. You have good reason to be concerned, that's why you both called me, but I would have thought you'd've figured out by now - you are stronger together. Don't try to hide things from one another."

He looked from the (former) crook to the (former) assassin, and they both had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

"Now, in order for this to work, I'll need to walk the property - the whole property. I know you'll have at least one hidey-hole, but I need to see it all. Your secrets are safe with me."

"We know that, John," Sara replied quietly. "Thank you."

"Any time, love." He flipped open his lighter -

"Outside!" the proprietors chorused.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Day by Day**_

Len was sitting in bed reading when Sara returned to their room, wearing one of her trademark 'motivational' tees, with a damp towel slung over one shoulder. "Thought you'd still be asleep."

"Don't like sleeping alone," he muttered. "Don't like waking up alone, either."

"You also don't like waking up at the crack of dawn, so I didn't want to disturb you."

There was the faintest hint of…something…in her voice that made Len set aside his book. "Are you all right?"

Sara sighed. "Fine. I just needed to hit something. Happens sometimes. Then I swam a few laps to cool off."

"Hope you didn't wake Mick."

Sara snorted at that idea. "That fire proof paneling that Gideon came up with is pretty good at dampening sound. Besides, we're talking Mick."

That brought a faint smile. "This is true."

"Wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

"I just…I don't like waking up alone," Len replied, a bit evasively.

Sara stripped off her tee and dropped it and the towel on the floor, so she could climb up on the bed. She took his face in her hands.

"Len, I was down in the basement, using the beautiful gym you built for us. I never left the property. You could have tracked me on the security system. This place is a fortress. Nothing and no one is getting in here uninvited."

"However hard your friend Selina might try."

Sara laughed, then leaned in and kissed him lightly.

"I never had a home before," Len said quietly. "Not a real one."

"Well, you do now. I love this place, and I love everything you've done to keep us safe. And I love you."

Len eyed her damp red bikini. "You're getting the sheets wet," he pointed out.

"Someone ought to do something about that."

"Sweetheart! Hey, sweetheart, howsabout a little service here?"

Conversation in the immediate vicinity of the bar ceased, and several patrons picked up their drinks and retreated to other parts of the room.

Sara Lance turned slowly, her expression boding no good for the yammering idiot.

"Can I help you?"

Said idiot leered her rather obviously. "Well, I can see why they hired you, babe. What do I gotta do to get a drink around here?"

"Leave. We don't cater to your species."

"Hey! You implying that I'm one of those - those - things - from Cen'ral City?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating that you're a jackass. Now get lost."

"Miss Sara, I do believe you've just insulted farm animals," Alfred scolded lightly.

"You know, you're right. I apologize. To any livestock that might have heard that. I don't serve garbage."

"Hey, are you the owner? Are just gonna stand there and let her get away with that?"

"No mate - she's the owner, and she gets away with whatever she bloody well pleases in her own place."

By this point, Sara had swung herself over the bar and was stalking towards the interloper with a feral grin. The regulars were suddenly immensely interested in the pool game in the back room.

"Now, Miss Sara, I must remind you what happened the last time your tried to eject some tosser via the security glass windows."

"Of course, Alfred. Thank you. Get the door for me, would you?"

"Very good, madame."

"Go to hell, you bi-"

Sara swung her fist. "No can do," she told the unconscious lump at her feet. "Satan still has a restraining order against me."


	7. Chapter 7

The bar was Sara's.

The kitchen was Mick's.

The security office, well, that was Len's domain. The black and white carpet and gleaming dark red countertops blended nicely with the décor of the rest of the building. (OK, maybe the carpet design that Sara picked was a bit more…flamboyant…than Len would have chosen, but it did serve to help muffle any noise from down below.)

The office connected directly to the upstairs panic room. It was Gotham, after all, and one never knew when a little extra firepower might come in handy. There were, of course, the standard accoutrements of a business office - the safe and counting machine, and a computer that actually contained book keeping and ordering software.

The room had been designed by Cisco Ramon and Ray Palmer, with Gideon pitching in, both to upgrade things with future tech, and also make said future tech as intuitive as possible for Len to operate. Both men had wanted to bring in Felicity Smoak, but old habits died hard, and Len wasn't ready to have Team Arrow knowing _**quite**_ so much of his business.

From his office, Len could monitor the security cameras placed all around the building. (Except for when that damn cat decided to play with the one up on the roof. Nothing he'd tried so far had deterred the orange beast for long.) He could manage the HVAC, alarm, and comm systems for the entire building without moving from his chair.

Although he'd let Sara choose most of the furnishings and fixtures, that chair was one of the few things Len had insisted on. Sara laughingly called it his 'CEO chair.' It was upholstered in dark gray leather, with luxurious padding and a high back. It was a top-of-the-line model that rolled smoothly and silently across the floor with the slightest push of his foot.

Mick was not allowed to sit in it. He was also not allowed to bring any food into the office, and there was a can of industrial strength handwipes that he was expected to use before touching any of the equipment.

Sara generally preferred to sit in Len's lap when she came up to the office. (He grumbled that she'd break his chair. She replied that for what they paid for the damn thing, they should be able to do a helluva lot more than just sit in it.) She also preferred to drink out of his mug. (He'd conceded that point quite a long time ago.)

* * *

The office door opened, and Len turned his chair with a nudge of his foot, just in time for Sara to slide into his lap. She was wearing one of her wolf tees, he noted absently, as he settled his arms around her waist. Sara slipped an arm around his neck and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

"All buttoned up downstairs?" he asked.

"Yup. As you're well aware, Mr. Overwatch."

"That's Captain Overwatch."

Sara laughed, and kissed him again. "Mick's making steaks on the grill, and there's a really nice bottle of wine."

"Is the Cat liberating things from the Bat's wine cellar again?"

"Actually, no. Ray sent it."

"Good. Wouldn't want the GCPD coming after us for possession of ill-gotten booze."

"Alfred brought us that last bottle," she protested.

"And did you two have fun tossing that bozo out?"

"I did, actually. Alfred even got the door for me, so I didn't damage anything trying to chuck him through an unbreakable window."

Snart gave a slight shrug. "It was worth the cost of a new table to know that the glass lived up to Raymond and Ramon's techno-babble. Besides, it's amusing as hell to see the looks on the eject-ee's faces when they realize just how badly they misjudged you."

Sara chuckled. "Yeah. The idiot brigade always seems to think that Mick is the one to worry about."

"You're easily the most badass of the three of us."

"Thanks for that…for not going all cave-man when someone looks at me funny."

"I've known exactly what you're capable of, since way back in 1975, and it's a thing of beauty to watch you putting some idiot in their place. But Sara…you know…if there was ever anyone that I thought might actually - "

"I do know." She leaned in and rested her forehead against his. "In a heartbeat. You and Mick both. I've known that since 1975, too."


	8. Chapter 8

Harvey Bullock sat slouched in a dim corner of the bar, hat pulled low over his face. Old habits died hard, and he scanned his surroundings with a cop's eyes. "I love what you guys've done with this place," he told Sara as she slid a fresh beer and chaser in front of him.

Sara flashed him a grin before turning back to survey her domain. Tonight, the center table that was generally the scene of a card game had different occupants. A cluster of ladies were seated there, deeply involved in something that required a couple of laptops, and a variety of handwritten notes.

Harvey shrugged and sipped at his beer. As he and Sara watched, a couple of men who looked to be rather full of liquor (and themselves) sauntered over to the table. The ladies were plainly irritated at the interruption, but the bozos didn't seem to take the hint. And _**then**_ the biker gang from the pool table noticed what was going on.

"Hey, isn't that -" Harvey said, moving to get up.

"I don't care," Sara told him firmly. "As long as they don't cause any trouble in here, I don't care what they do outside. Anyway…just watch," she added, smirking.

The bikers (who just happened to still be holding their pool cues) went toe to toe with the interlopers, until they finally decided to seek greener pastures somewhere far, far away. The ladies smiled at their saviors…and then one of the bikers suddenly grabbed a wineglass that the redhead with glasses had been about to drink from. Then he collected the rest of the glasses from the table (earning a glare from the dumpy blonde with the ridiculous pair of cat ears on her head when he took her frozen chocolate concoction away).

He plopped them unceremoniously on the bar. "Hey, Sara - can I get a fresh round for the ladies? And you should maybe wash these out real good. I think those guys mighta had some funny stuff in mind."

"On it," Sara promised, bustling around to make the drinks.

"Hey, Sara!"

"What can I do for you, Crusher?" she asked the second biker who'd made his way over to the bar.

"Can I get some munchies for the ladies? And maybe some chocolate?"

Sara turned towards the kitchen door. "Mick! Can we get some goodies for the ladies?"

An unintelligible grumble sounded from the kitchen.

"Five minutes," Sara interpreted. "They working on a new story?"

"Yeah. And we get to read it first, before it gets posted online! And we'll be sure an' walk 'em to their cars later."

"I can always count on you," Sara said sincerely.

Harvey gulped down the remainder of his drink as they walked away. "Did I really just see that?"

"Never underestimate the power of a good story," Mick told him, heading for the center table with a tray full of edibles.


	9. Chapter 9

Len entered the apartment with his usual silent grace, leaning back against the wall as the swivel door locked quietly behind him. A fond smile that few would have credited played across his face. He'd never really been the sort to expend time or energy pondering the great imponderables. He'd been too busy most of his life - first, just trying to keep himself and his sister alive, then trying not to get caught, then becoming so good that no one _**could**_ catch him. Until he met a certain super hero.

It still amazed him sometimes that an encounter with an overly cheerful goody speed-shoes had set him on a path that led - literally - to the stars, and ended here, in a home of his own, with good friends, and an incredible woman to share his life.

Of course, along with the weighty mysteries of life, there were other things that roused his curiosity. Such as how someone so much smaller than him could manage to sprawl across so much of a king bed. And how that damned cat got in _**again**_. And why the beast was asleep on _**his**_ pillow.

"Come to bed, Len," Sara murmured sleepily.

Well, _**that**_ certainly didn't require any consideration on his part.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Old City Bar**_

It was early Christmas morning- _ **very**_ early. A few rather weary heroes were lounging around the bar, enjoying the remnants of a well-earned buffet that Alfred and Mick had prepared while the rest of them were out completing their late-night mission.

Thanks to the Rogues' own impulses and the Bat's ready cash, residents of shelters in some of the poorest sections of the city would wake to find gifts, warm clothing, and a plentiful holiday feast. The crew of the Waverider had pitched in as well. (A timeship made an excellent Santa's sleigh. Hmm…maybe Santa was a…? Nah.)

By this point, it was down to just the Rogues and the residents of Wayne Manor. Much as he'd appreciated the assistance, Len was ready to have the place to themselves, at least for a few hours. He had a special gift for Sara, and he'd really prefer a bit of privacy to give it to her. He'd drifted to his favorite corner table with a cup of cocoa, staring idly out the window as he sipped.

Although Gotham was never totally at rest, there wasn't much foot traffic at this hour. Across the street, Len could just make out two people-no, three. One of the women held a sleeping kid. They were huddled under the bodega's awning, and they looked pretty miserable. They kept glancing at the dimly lit bar.

Len shook his head roughly. They were off duty, dammit. They'd done their share. And then Sara slid into his lap and reached for his mug.

"OK, babe? I know there were a lot of people tonight. You did good. You even let Barry hug you."

"I've learned to pick my battles." His gaze flickered back to the window.

Sara looked and sighed. "We can't save everyone," she reminded him.

"I know."

The same conversation seemed to be taking place across the room.

"If they had somewhere to go, they'd be there already," Selina insisted, shrugging a coat on over her work clothes. "Alfred, have we got any-"

The older man smiled as he handed her a paper shopping bag full of leftovers.

"Thanks."

"Hang on, I'm coming with," Sara announced, getting to her feet.

Len stared out the window after them. Sure, the ladies were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but there was just something the slightest bit off… He swore and followed them outside.

He strode across the street, grateful for his habitual heavy black sweater since _**someone**_ had grabbed his parka. The slight sense of unease intensified. The more he tried to concentrate on the little family, the more he felt his attention try to wander. Their reactions didn't quite seem to gel with Sara and Selina's warm smiles. He picked up his pace.

"…our offspring," he heard one of them say.

 _Offspring?_ People didn't talk that way. Something was going on here.

"Sara-"

"It's fine, Len," Sara said calmly. She turned her attention back to the strangers. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. We are not."

"Can you eat our food?" Selina asked. "It won't make you sick or anything?"

"We may safely ingest your foodstuffs. We thank you."

"It is important to keep the offspring nourished," the second woman added.

"Come on inside where it's warm," Sara invited.

"We do not wish to impose."

"It's Christmas," Selina prompted.

The aliens-yeah, they were all pretty sure now that that's what they were dealing with-exchanged puzzled glances.

"It's a local holiday," Selina explained. "One day out of the whole stinking year when we go out of our way to try and be nice to one another."

"But we are strangers here."

"All the more reason to help," Sara replied, grinning.

"Are you sure we _**can**_ help?" Len asked, sotto voce.

"We got this," Sara assured him.

The alien looked puzzled, and her illusion seemed to falter for a moment. "Your mate is correct. The technology of this world-"

"Good thing we have access to the technology of more than one world, then."

The group filed back into the Rogue Canary.

"Make yourselves at home," Sara invited as she locked the front door. "Len-"

"On it," he replied, heading for their private elevator.

"Boss?" Mick inquired.

"These folks need some help to get home. Len's gonna hail the Waverider. Jax can get them to STAR Labs, and the gang there can see about getting them the rest of the way."

"Jax's mom'll be pissed if he's late for presents," Mick rumbled.

"Not when she hears the reason," Sara replied.

"If Jax can't get back here, I'll get them to Central," Bruce promised.

"We do not wish to disturb your festival," one of the aliens said quietly.

"Not at all," Alfred assured them, offering mugs of hot coffee.

Surprisingly, it was Mick who spoke up. "Christmas is all about a family that was just tryin' to find someplace safe to have their kid. You ain't disturbing nothing."


	11. Chapter 11

There was no room for a tree in the apartment, but Sara wanted one, so it was set up on the deck. It was placed in front of the window, which turned out to be a good thing, since Sara insisted on keeping the drapes open to enjoy the lights. She liked the idea of making love in the glow of the tree. Len liked the idea of privacy. As always, they arrived at their own solution. It suited them, and other people's opinions didn't figure into the equation.

The tree was enormous, and blocked the entire window. It was covered in blue and white lights, and silver tinsel. The tinsel was of the single strand variety. Len shuddered and predicted they'd be finding bits of the damn stuff for the rest of their lives. He did have to admit that it cast a lovely, shimmery glow over the room.

The focal point of that room was Sara. She was sprawled across their bed in a cozy nest of pillows and velvety blankets. And she was reading a book.

"Is that mine?"

"Hmm?" She turned another page.

"Sara, is that my new book? The one I've been tearing this place apart to find?"

She finally looked up. "This one? It was right here. It's really good."

"I know. That's why I want to finish it."

"No…I mean it's _**really**_ good. I didn't think I'd like this kind of thing, but the heroine is amazing!"

"I know. She reminds me of you. That's why I like them."

He set one knee on the bed, reaching for his book. Sara dodged out of reach, curling up against the headboard.

"Look, there's a whole series. Why don't you start at the beginning, and let me have that one?"

"I wanna find out what happens next!"

"So do I!"

Len's expression turned crafty. "Suppose I trade you your present for my book?" he suggested.

Sara eyed him over the top of the book. "I dunno…this is an awfully good story."

"I'll make it worth your while," Len promised, climbing up next to her.

He held out a blue velvet jewelry case enticingly. Grinning, Sara pounced on her gift, while Len reclaimed his book.

"This is beautiful," she murmured, touching the shimmering blue glass beads gently.

"It was my grandmother's. I had the beads restrung and a new clasp put on. It's just glass. Louis would have sold it if it was worth anything-"

Sara silenced his stammering by reaching up and grasping his chin firmly in one small hand. "It's worth _**everything."**_


End file.
